The Sun and the Moon
by Lauren the Oxymoron
Summary: Sometimes things happen so subtly that we don't even notice the change, so that our choices are made for ourselves, by ourselves, before we are even presented with the problem. So it was with Will and Elizabeth.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I own nothing. So sue me if it makes you happy, because that's about all you will get out of it.

A/N- I owe so much to Pame Islava. Without her, this story would absolutely never have happened. And I'm so glad that it did happen. Because it's become quite dear to me. Anyway, this is an AU modern day Will/Elizabeth story. They are becoming much more common, and that makes me happy, because I rather like that genre of story. Hopefully mine is original though. Or at least, original enough to make people read it and NOT say "Another one of these!" Not that there's a lot of similar stories out there so that they are becoming old. Oh good god, I should just stop. Just read it, okay?

* * *

The Sun and the Moon

"Will?"

The receiver felt heavy in his hands, cold and unfriendly. Her voice was too far away, and no matter how hard he gripped the smooth plastic of the phone, it remained unyielding to his need to be there with her, to hold her and to smell her and to feel her and know she was all right.

"Will... can you please come..." she whimpered. She was crying. Sobbing, in fact. And pleading with him to come to her. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed deeply. Only she could do this, chip away at him so that all of his resolve, all of his sense lay in broken shards at his feet.

"Will..." she trembled, "Please. Please, Will... Say something!"

He knew he shouldn't. But he also knew he would.

"I'll be there in a couple minutes."

After she sobbed her gratitude to him, he gingerly hung the receiver on the cradle. He felt the frustrating contradiction of wanting to rush to her side and pick her up again and of leaving her to do it on her own.

Sighing heavily, he pulled his shoes and a sweatshirt on, and grabbed his keys off of the table.

"Will?" came a sleepy voice from his bedroom.

He turned to see Amy, blurry eyed and wrapped in what appeared to be the bed comforter, standing in their bedroom doorway.

"What's going on? Where are you going at this hour?"

He walked over to her, pulled the comforter tighter around her body, rubbed her arms, buried his head in the bend of her neck.

"Will?" she said, the sleep seeping out of her voice at her alarm at his sudden rush of affection.

He pulled back and looked at her. She knew right away where he was going and pulled back from him.

"I'll try to be back tonight, Amy, but... She's really rough, she needs me," even he could hear the justification in his voice, and he wasn't sure whose actions he was justifying, his, hers or Amy's.

"She always needs you," Amy said with a defeated shrug, and turned from him back into the room. Will grabbed her fingers quickly, pulling her back to him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he whispered in her ear. He brushed his lips across hers lightly.

"I love you," she whispered in reply, a hint of desperation in her voice, a last plea for him to stay with her.

Will paused and scanned her face. "Get some sleep," he said softly and watched her eyes cringe away from his. Her fingers slipped from his hand as she turned into the bedroom, looking strangely swallowed beneath the heavy folds of the blanket.

Leaving his apartment quickly, he knew he was leaving one crying girl for another. _Because_ of another.

* * *

Will turned the key, and his car slowly rumbled to life. This was wrong. Deliberately slow, Will turned the lights on. He shouldn't be going to see her. He unnecessarily adjusted the rear view mirror. He had made a promise to himself. He put his foot on the brake, testing it. He had made a promise to Amy. He shifted the car to reverse. 

No, no this was all wrong. He couldn't do this, not to Amy and definitely not to himself. She could be so selfish sometimes. It was so unfair to himself, and completely cruel and uncaring to Amy. If he wanted to have any future with Amy, he knew he had to cut the ignition. He had to stop going to her every time she called him. He had to stand up to her for himself and for Amy and for their future. Amy had put up with her relentless phone calls for far too long. At first she had thought Will such a good person for rushing to her side every time she fell down, but now she was a division between them. She was the third person in the relationship, and there was only room for two. Will had to make his decision. Who was it going to be?

Letting out a frustrated groan, he shifted back to park. He ran a hand through his unruly, slept on curls.

But he couldn't just cut her out of his life. She had been in it longer than Amy. Hell, she had been part of his life for longer than any other living person. She was his childhood playmate, his best friend all throughout school, the only steady face he could count on when his parents had their accident, his only encouragement throughout his years at university, the only thing real about the world after he finished up his education. It's not like she hadn't done a lot for him. Maybe now it was his turn to be there for her. They went together, they always had. They were as dependent on each other as the day and the night. And about as different. But still, you couldn't have one without the other, a day wasn't complete without the night, and Will wasn't complete without Elizabeth.

And so Will shifted the car into reverse, and slipped into the night. There was never much of a choice for him.

* * *

"Liz?" he called, letting himself into her apartment after hiding the spare key back in the bottom of a flower pot with a fake plant. The apartment was dark, and Will was blinded for a few seconds before his eyes adjusted. It smelled foul, as if it had been closed up for the past couple days. It was hot and the whole place was heavy and suffocating. He walked forward into the living room and even his footsteps seemed muffled. The four tall windows facing the street caused the moonlight to pool on the wooden floor eerily. The apartment was at least a hundred years old, and Will had always been convinced it was haunted. Will couldn't hear Liz at all. He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing. Suddenly, he felt something rubbing against his ankles, a furry shadow a little darker and denser than the haziness of the room. 

"Hey, Shakespeare," Will said, pausing to give the cat a few rubs before moving on toward Elizabeth's room. The cat mewed pitifully, eyed him dolefully and then walked to his empty dish, begging Will to fill it. Will wondered when Elizabeth had last fed him. After quickly dishing the cat some food, he turned and went to her room.

He hesitantly put his hand on the closed bedroom door, half fearful what he would see behind it and half still wanting to turn around and go home. But it was too late for that. He had made his choice. So he pushed it open and found her, curled up into a little ball on the floor by the foot of her bed. She was no longer crying, but her eyes were red and swollen.

"Will," she cried, a sound as pitiful as her cat's starving mew. He smiled at her, a sad half smile to reassure her that he was there for her. He turned on the lights, and he saw Elizabeth flinch at the unwelcome and unfamiliar brightness. Next he went and wrenched her stubborn window open, trying to get some circulation in the stuffy room. After making those amends, he went and sat beside her, leaning back against her bed. She uncurled herself and sat up so they were next to each other.

"So, who was it this time?" Will said, prompting her to tell him what had happened. His voice was cordial, he was trying to keep somewhat of a distance between the two, but his voice was softened with the old familiarity of her. And seeing her so obviously upset made it impossible for him be cold to her.

"It was Dave," Elizabeth offered with a resigned sigh. At least she was beyond crying. Will couldn't stand it when she sobbed out these stories. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable or awkward, it was just that he felt so helpless when she was in that state. He never wanted to see her crying, but he never knew what to do to fix it.

"Okay. When exactly did you meet Dave?"

"A month ago. In a bar, it was right after the Jason episode," she explained sadly. "The Jason episode" was referring to her last winner of a boyfriend, a micromanaging prick who had constantly picked apart Elizabeth so that he controlled everything about her: what she wore, who she spent her time with, what she could eat, how often she could go out to with her friends. Will had absolutely despised him, and it had been mutual. Jason had not allotted any time for Elizabeth to spend with Will. After three months with the control freak, Elizabeth finally cut loose.

But apparently she cut a little too loose. Will could already see where she was going with this Dave guy. She walked into the bar, finally free of Jason and ready to have some fun. She would drink more than wise, now that Jason wasn't there to glower at her disapprovingly. She would be tipsy and carefree and have absolutely no judgment. Dave, whom Will had only met briefly, not long enough to get to know the exact details of his and Liz's meeting, but long enough to deem him a creep, would see an easy mark and snap her up into his jaws like the wolf he was.

"He was the exact opposite of Jason. I think that was why I liked him."

That and the fact that she had been dead drunk. But Will let that go.

"He wasn't controlling at all. We both sort of just did our own thing. I guess that should have warned me," Elizabeth said softly, and Will suspected that she was talking to herself as much as she was to him.

"So when did you find out that he was cheating on you?" Will asked, guessing where this was going.

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "You knew?" she asked, the betrayal breaking her voice and hardening her eyes.

Will just smiled sadly at her. "It doesn't take a genius to see where this is going," he said gently.

"God, I'm so _stupid_," she said, her anger at Will draining out of her body as she slumped back against the bed, burying her head in her hands.

"No, Liz, you were taken advantage of," Will said, pulling her into his arms. Her body seemed tiny and shrunken against his. He hated this. He hated every single man who had ever taken a bite out of Elizabeth and then tossed her aside like she was rotten. She deserved so much better than this -- loser boyfriends and then a bruised and battered self-esteem when they mistreated her. None of them truly appreciated her for herself. They saw her long legs and big lips, and that was all that they needed to see. They never saw Elizabeth, the spunky girl still half-teenager, the happy, childlike innocence of her, the intellectual and gorgeous twenty-seven year old who would take no shit. Unless it came to men, unfortunately.

"Come on," Will said softly, whispering against her hair. "I'll go make you some tea. And I think Shakespeare needs some love."

Elizabeth sighed heavily and nodded, allowing Will to pull her to her feet. She wavered a bit, as if she hadn't used her legs for awhile, and leaned heavily against Will as they made their way through her little apartment to the kitchen. Will sat her at the bar and set about making their tea. Shakespeare wandered into the kitchen and eyed Will with disinterest, choosing to curl up in the chair beside Elizabeth instead.

"Do you remember when we were eleven and Jonny teased me for being shorter than all the other boys?" Will asked Elizabeth, trying to keep her mind off of other things.

Elizabeth smiled at the memory. "Yeah. You tried to be all logical with them and explain that both of your parents were short, so you would naturally be short like them, and that Johnny's dad was a giant, so it made sense that he was taller than you. Probably not the best approach with Jonny," she said with a small laugh.

"You're right. I probably lost him at the first word longer than five letters. But as always, you came to my rescue," he said with a warm smile at her.

"Well, it wasn't so hard. Seeing as I was a girl hitting puberty, I was a good six inches taller than him. All I had to do was stand right in front of him and say 'You might be taller than Will, but you are still shorter _me_.' I was such a bully!"

"No, I'm pretty sure you saved me, Liz. He teased so much about my height, that I probably would have stayed a four foot seven shrimp all throughout the rest of my life just trying to shrink away from him. I would have been maimed for a life. A freak. You saved me from that tragedy just by narrowing your eyes and growling at him," Will teased lightly.

Elizabeth laughed. "I guess we are even now, then," she said softly, breaking Will's gaze, stroking Shakespeare as she blushed under Will's kind, understanding stare. It was as close as she could get to saying thank you.

It was enough for him.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

When Will left Elizabeth's apartment, dawn was stretching her fingers across the sky, the sun's sleepy rays coating a lacquer on the tips of the dewy grass. As exhausted as he was, Will couldn't help but stop and appreciate this peaceful time of day. It seemed as if the world were completely unadulterated by the calamity of humanity. As if the chaos of civilization had been scourged away and nature had been left to flourish and regrow some of the goodness the humans had sapped out of the soil. The flowers were opening, their yellow faces greeting the welcome warmth of the morning sun, the sky blushed a pale salmon, and the mourning dove cried its baleful warning from the trees shivering in the cool morning breeze. Will took in a deep healing breath, and felt the same rejuvenation flow through his blood. 

But just as quickly as the sun rises in the East, Will had to return to the demands of life and the troubles the come with it. He had to go home and face Amy, who he had left last night although she had as good as begged him not to leave her to go to Elizabeth.

He loved Amy. She was a sweet, easygoing person that was impossible not to love. She was the very definition of an old soul, down to her favorite patterned purse from the 40s. She suited Will, and he had never been as happy as he was with her. She had been glad enough to put up with Elizabeth's frequent calls and cries for help from Will. Until up to about five months ago.

Elizabeth had called Will while he and Amy had been enjoying an evening together. Her current boyfriend was a moocher and a thief, something Elizabeth had failed to tell Will until that night. She didn't complain when it was something small -- a necklace that wasn't of any real worth, dinner when he smiled at her with his charming and embarrassed smile and said that he was running short on cash, staying with her in her apartment a couple nights after he got evicted and before he could find a new place -- but that night it had gotten out of hand. Elizabeth had come home to find herself a couple hundred dollars poorer, the cash stolen from the piggy bank where she kept grocery money. Elizabeth needed Will's help in finding her boyfriend and getting the money back. He agreed without much of a second thought. Smiling apologetically and promising to make it up to her later, he left Amy alone for the night, and didn't return until well into the early morning hours.

He snuck into the house, trying not to wake Amy up. However he found her already awake and waiting for him in the living room. She looked exhausted, as if she had been up all night, and her eyes looked red as if she had been crying. Will was nervous, if she waited for him to come home, she obviously had something she needed to say to him, and he wondered if he could handle whatever it was after the grueling night he had spent with Elizabeth, who had made excuses for her criminal boyfriend the whole time. Because if she had been crying, then what she had to say was probably something he didn't want to hear. Looking at Amy though, Will didn't think she had any energy left to tell him what she had to. She had probably spent all her energy trying to wait up for him and trying figure out exactly what to say to him, so that she had none left to actually say it. But when she saw Will and stood up, he saw her shoulders go back and emotion (most likely anger) rush into her face.

"How many times has Liz called you over some problem with a new boyfriend?" she said in a hard voice that Will was unfamiliar with. It made him shiver.

"I dunno. Too many to count," Will said with a rueful half smile, trying to make light of a situation that was sure to go bad.

"And every time you have answered them? Every time you have gone to save her?" Amy said, still in that voice that absolutely terrified Will. He was sure he was losing her, and he began to feel the terrible sensation of drowning. Knowing that the end was drawing near, and yet struggling frantically to keep it from catching up with him.

"Yes," Will said softly, apologetically. He didn't know what to say to keep himself afloat, what she wanted to hear -- the truth, lies, or excuses.

"Why?" she said, her eyes softening, breaking, and most unbearably, filling with tears.

Will watched her hopelessly. He had no answer. A lie would confirm her fear, an excuse would make her angry, but the truth would absolutely devastate her. So he watched her, her teary blue eyes pleading with him to reassure her that she was wrong about her suspicion. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms, to wipe her tears away and tell her that he loved her, and that she was just being paranoid and that there was no one for him but her. But that would be a lie. So he watched her, and felt like the most wretched person on earth to have done this to her, to his Amy.

"Do you love her?" she asked him softly, her voice choked with tears, her eyes still calling, begging...

Will could himself being pulled under by the current, the water swallowing him, the blackness rising to meet him. This was it, this was the end. He was flailing, floundering in the water, fighting not to lose her.

"Not in the same way I love you," he said softly, pleadingly, his own eyes calling to her, begging her to understand.

Amy flinched away from him, her eyes shutting as the tears spilled over onto her flushed cheeks.

"Amy, please listen to me," Will said, trying to make his voice soothing and at the same time trying to contain his rising panic at the prospect of losing her. He stepped forward, putting his hand on her arm. She wrenched herself away from him, and Will felt his heart plummet. "Yes, Amy, I love Elizabeth," he said, her body heaved forward as if Will had physically punched her. "But I love you too!" he added quickly. "Please understand that I have known Elizabeth all of my life, I've never been closer to any other person in the world than her. She knows me in a way that no one else does, and vise versa. I love her for always being there for me, I love her for telling me when I look like an idiot, I love her for every time she has stood up for me.

"But I love you in a very very different way. I love Liz for all that she has done for me, but I love you for just being you! I love the way your eyes shine when you are with the kids at work, I love the way you hum when you are cooking without even noticing that you are doing it, I love the way you slur your speech when you are tired. Amy, don't do this to me, don't pull away from me, don't leave me, because the truth is that I am absolutely, helplessly in love with you, Amy, and I don't know how to function without you!"

Amy lifted her eyes to meet his finally. They were still blurry with tears, but there was something behind them now. Hope.

Yes, in the end, Will opted for a half-truth.

He hadn't lied. He did love Elizabeth. And he did love Amy. And he did love them in very different ways. It had been the truth when he listed all the ways he loved Amy.

But he had played down his love for Elizabeth. He had made his love for her sound merely platonic, a love that had slowly developed, a fondness that sprang from their friendship. But the truth was that it was much more than that. He had loved Elizabeth for as long as he could remember. They had lived in the same neighborhood, and Elizabeth was a notorious bully. She was loud, and all the kids looked up to her as much as they feared her. There was never a dull time with her. She was animated and fiery and so much fun to be around. For some reason Will would probably never fully understand, she chose him as her closest friend, her accessory in her petty childish little crimes, her second in command when she went off on her "adventures." She helped him emerge from his cocoon of bashfulness that he had when he was a child, and made him a feared and yet respected kid of the neighborhood at the same time.

He had carried his love, more like a childish adoration at this point, for Elizabeth close to himself, and watched as she repeatedly dated the biggest jerks throughout all of high school. He chose to become her best friend instead, knowing that a boyfriend wasn't something that was all that special to Elizabeth, judging by the way she went through them so quickly. They had a definite bond, their opposite personalities making them compatible. She confessed to him the hard times she had at home, she confided in him that she was very lonely, without any girl friends, and boyfriends that were jerks. She revealed to him her vulnerable side, her shortcomings and her fears, and he felt his love for her bloom. He was then her trusted confidante, he eased her loneliness and always always let her come home to stay with him when she didn't want to go home to her father. And for the first time in her life, she had someone who would listen to her.

When his parents had their accident, Elizabeth had never left his side. For the first time in their relationship, he was the one that was hurting, a deep pain that couldn't be solved by standing up, quite literally, to the older boys. Elizabeth was the only person who could help him bridge the harrowing reality of losing his parents at too young of an age, and she did it by just being herself. He was downright dependent on Elizabeth by then, and the two were inseparable.

When they went to university, they started to branch off, as they chose what the rest of their life would be. Elizabeth spent more time with the artistic kids, having heated debates about politics and history and religion with those that understood that aspect of her in a way that Will couldn't. Likewise, Will spent his time with students in the English and literature department. They would discuss classic books together, share their own stories, and suggest good reading material. But Elizabeth and Will always found at least one night of the week just for the two of them. Elizabeth continued her habit of finding the worst of boyfriends, and Will continued to bail her out when the relationships went sour.

He still loved her, more than she could ever know and more, perhaps, than he truly wanted to admit, but he began to realize that he had made a grave mistake back in his childhood, when he had decided that becoming her best friend was the best way to get her to reciprocate his feelings. Now she saw him as her best friend Will, and she would never be able to see past that. He, meanwhile, watched her, yearning all the time to tell her that he loved her and that he would be better to her than any other man had been in her life. But something always made him bite it back. He was still the shy child he had been when they had met. He couldn't tell her because he was afraid. Not of rejection, not of being laughed at, but afraid of losing her. He couldn't lose her too. She was his foothold, the one thing that kept him steady. If he lost her it would be the death of himself. So he said nothing for years.

In his senior year, he had met Amy, who was studying to become a kindergarten teacher. They had literature together, and they had been in the same study group. She was so beautiful and warm and caring and he found himself spending more and more time with her. All of his life, he had been so consumed with Elizabeth, that he hadn't ever thought that there could be anyone else. So he was very tentative to get involved with Amy, but it was as natural as a sea seeking river, and almost as impossible to stop. He loved Amy, there was no doubt, but he would never stop loving Elizabeth.

With a sigh, Will was in front of his own apartment door, his hand hovering over the doorknob hesitantly. This seemed too familiar to five months ago, and he didn't think that he could go through that again. Amy had understood, had believed his half truth, but she was never happy to see him go over to Elizabeth's. She understood that they were still close, and that there was no way Will could stop seeing her. But she never saw him go without a little suspicion, without a secret yearning he wouldn't go that she could never quite conceal.

Deciding that he couldn't stay locked out of his own apartment for much longer, he opened the door and walked in.

Amy was already awake, getting ready to go to the school. She was wearing a red polka dotted dress with a large white satin bow around the waist and tied in the back. Will guessed that it was from the 40s, her favorite era as far as clothing went. He smiled as he remembered her telling him that one of the little girls had told her that her Barbie doll had the same dress as Amy. She was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. He saw with a regretful pain that she had made him his favorite, Swedish pancakes. She was humming softly, as she always did when she cooked.

She looked up as he entered the apartment, as the small kitchen faced the entryway. She smiled brightly to see him. He immediately felt better. She obviously wasn't too upset with him.

"Hey you," she said softly, smiling and looking back down at her frying pan.

"Hey," he replied, his voice groggy but relieved.

"I made you your favorite," she said, and pointed to a plate that she had set out on the small table.

"Thank you," he said, but he walked around the counter top and into the kitchen be with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly against his chest.

"Hey! You're going to crush my bow," she said with her little lilting laugh.

Will loosened his grip on her a bit. "I appreciate this, Amy. You understanding about last night. It really means a lot to me all that you do for me," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"How is Elizabeth?" Amy asked genuinely. She wasn't bitter at all, she was concerned. Will felt a rush of emotions sweep his body at her trust -- gratitude, appreciation, affection, admiration and something that wasn't so different from pity.

"She's been worse. She'll be better," Will said simply. Sometimes he wished she would yell at him about Elizabeth, to accuse him again, not so that he could feel important and beloved, but so that the guilt that pressed against his lungs could be deflated a little.

"Well, that's good. I hate to see her so distraught. Now, I have to get going, or I'll be late!" Amy said, pulling herself away from Will and turning off the stove.

She turned so that she could look him in the eye. "You're a good man, Will Turner," she said simply. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll see you at six!" she called and left him alone in their apartment.

He had never felt worse about his half-truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Will sighed heavily. The usual feeling of antsiness that tingled in his legs around five was less of the tiny pinpricks it usually was and more of a butcher's cleaver to the legs repeatedly.

His entire day had been clouded by his thoughts. He hadn't been entirely focused when he was talking to the author whose book he was touting, and he would probably pay for that later when he would have to try to convince the publisher that it was a book worthy of publishing. A bully of an agent had practically forced Will to agree to meet with him next Friday night, which Amy and Will had been planning to go see a concert on. He hadn't even had enough concentration to properly fight the agent, and would have to do it later, which would make it infinitely more impossible. Now he had a snatched moment to do the actual revising of a manuscript, which is what originally attracted him to this job, and he couldn't even focus properly.

He just couldn't stop himself from worrying, from picking away, from constantly over-analyzing. He felt guilty. That thought was what had dominated his mind in the morning, and since then it had just progressively gotten worse. If he felt guilty, that meant that he had done something wrong.

But he hadn't. He had gone to help Elizabeth, something he had done for all of their twenty-five year friendship. Yes, Amy hadn't wanted him to go, but she had never outright said, "Don't go to Elizabeth's." She had just given a resigned sigh, as if she had come to accept some ugly reality.

But what was that? Had she decided that it was no use opposing Will's visits to Elizabeth's? Or had she surrendered in an unspoken war she was fighting against Elizabeth for Will's love? Had she come to realize that she would never fully have all of Will's love? Did that mean she was going to leave him?

But was that even true? Will could concede that he loved Elizabeth, and that part of him would never die, but it didn't mean he wasn't in love with Amy. Was it so impossible to think that someone could carry love for another person throughout all of their life, continuely burning up inside of them, like a benign tumor, and yet not love their current partner any less?

But was his love for Elizabeth benign? It wasn't a simple contained love, but more like a fire eating up all of Will. And it's not like Elizabeth helped things along. Everything she did acted like lighter fluid, causing the fire of Will's love to swell up. But he still loved Amy. She was the balm to the unrequited love that was burning Will up.

Letting out a frustrated groan, Will threw down his pencil. The manuscript was good, but the writer was so inconsistent that it was not aiding his mutinous brain and throbbing, restless legs. He ran his hand through his always disheveled curls, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

It was at times like these that Will wished his father was still around. Will was always haunted by the loss of his parents, and the fact that he couldn't remember what his mother smelled like or the sound of his father's voice were always the things that pained him the most. Every child seems to think that their parents are immortal, that somehow _their_ parents are an exception to the ultimatum of life: That everyone dies.

Will had been no different. He took his parents for granted. He hadn't appreciated it when his mother made him his favorite dessert or when his father took him out sailing with him. Parents were supposed to do those sort of things, and they had never _not_ been there to do those things for him. When he was pulled out of class on that Tuesday morning and told that his parents had been involved in a fatal car accident, Will understood what it meant to appreciate the small things in life. It wasn't the big things that Will missed, but the little things that everyone else got to share with their parents, but didn't realize the importance of. Will went to live with his father's brother and wife, who selflessly relocated to his hometown for his sake. He was grateful to his aunt and uncle, and appreciated what they did for him, now he knew what it was like to be without some of the smaller things, but he never hurried home after school to tell his aunt what had happened at school that day. He never spent a Saturday afternoon with his uncle.

There was so much that Will had missed with his parents. They never got to see him graduate high school or college. He had to guess and grope his way through the unknowns of higher education and career searching without his parents there for their advice. Of course, he had his aunt and uncle, but there was always a sort of politeness that doesn't exist between parents and children and made it hard for them reach out for Will and actually touch him. His uncle and his aunt supported him throughout all of his adolescence and early twenties, but the wall built by courtesy and formality separated them. Parents don't have to pretend that their children are always in the right, they can tell them outright that they made a stupid decision. Aunts and uncles can't do that without stepping over some undefined boundary.

Thankfully, Will had Elizabeth. She was allowed to tell him when he messed up, what courses to take, and when he was making a mistake in a career move without somehow being offensive. And Elizabeth was never someone who was afraid to express her opinions. Without Elizabeth, Will would never be where he was today.

But now he had a problem that even Elizabeth, who had an opinion on everything, could help him with. He wasn't quite sure he could talk to his aunt or uncle about it without breaching the same boundary that held them back. He needed his parents for this. He needed his father.

He was in love with two women.

Will looked at the clock on his desk. It was 5:34, as good a time to leave as any. He would have to proofread the rest of the manuscript and read a couple proposals over the weekend, but he really didn't think he would be able to get any further in his work that night. He shut down his computer and slid his work for the weekend into his messenger bag. The small obsessive compulsive side of him straightened up his desk so that it would be clean and in order when he returned to it on Monday. He then turned off the lights and locked his office door.

When he got back to his apartment, Amy was already there, barefoot but still in her red dress, curled up on the couch and reading a book. He set down his bag on the counter top, and then walked over to her.

"You're home early," she observed, not looking up from her book. Will looked at the title quickly to see if it was one that his publishing house had published. It wasn't.

"Yeah, I couldn't concentrate today. You know how Fridays can be," Will said as an excuse.

"I know. I couldn't get the kids to settle down. I had to bribe them in order to get them to study their letters."

"And what was the bribe?"

"A story about a pirate, for the boys' enjoyment, and his lady love, for the girls," Amy said with a smile, looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes.

"One of your own creations?" Will asked with a smile. He loved listening to her talk about the kids and teaching. The warmth and happiness she felt in her job was contagious.

"Of course," Amy said.

"You know, I sort of have an in with this publishing place. I could just pull some strings and you'd be a famous author! I'd need at least 25 of the profits, of course," Will teased.

"Hmm... I already have a following. I could be a huge hit with all the five year olds. How about 15?" Amy returned with mock-seriousness, but her shining eyes giving away the joke.

"Done! Looks like I'll have another book to convince my boss to publish. Sounds much better than the one I'm currently pushing right now, anyway. Although they are giving me 20 for it. I'm too soft on you."

"Well, you are getting other benefits besides the 15 from me," Amy said with a smirk, as she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

"You're right. I'm definitely not getting that from the other writer. Especially considering that he is a forty year old married man," Will said, making Amy laugh. She had a soft, lilting laugh that he never tired of hearing. Especially when he was the cause of it. He leaned in and gave her another kiss.

"What do you want me to make for dinner?" Amy asked as their lips parted.

"Mmm... nothing. I'll make you dinner for once," Will said, earning himself a bright smile.

He walked purposefully into the kitchen, pulling a cookbook off of one of the shelves and surveying what he had to work with as far as ingredients went. He had decided to make some sort of a pasta, and opened the cookbook to see what they had in the way of pastas. As he opened the well used book, he realized with a start that it had belonged to his mother, her signature scrawled on the bottom of the table of contents page. He had just assumed it was one of Amy's, and he so rarely cracked it open, that he never even thought it could be his mothers.

Will started to page through the book, stopping on pages that had rings from coffee cups branding them, sugar, flour, shortening and other ingredients spilled on the pages. These were his mother favorite recipes. He could remember eating many of these dishes at the small table that had been in the kitchen of their house. On a couple, she wrote down tips or revisions and he looked at her handwriting, another part of his mother he had lost through the cruel catalyst of time. He turned the page, and saw, written above the title of the recipe, "Will's Favorite." He felt a similar pain from earlier at the office attack his lungs.

After Will regained control over his breathing again, he decided to make the one that was his boyhood favorite. It was an easy macaroni and cheese recipe, every kid's favorite dinner. He remembered his mother always making a green bean and carrot medley and dinner rolls with this meal with apple crisp for dessert. No wonder it had been his favorite.

He had it ready for himself and Amy in about forty-five minutes, and made her sit down at the table while he served her. It felt different and out of routine, but Will found that he quite liked being the one doing the serving for a change.

"Mac and cheese?" Amy said with a grin. "I feel like I'm the kindergartener, instead of the teacher now."

Will grinned as he sat down opposite her. "It was my favorite meal when I was a kid. I found the recipe in my mom's cookbook," he explained, blushing a little. "I didn't even know that I had that book," he added.

Amy nodded, "I found it when we went down to Littleton last time. It was your aunt's attic. I was looking for that purse you said your mother owned, but I found that instead."

"Oh," Will said, thinking about the attic and all the treasures it held, all the other things he had forgotten. "What else was up there?"

Amy shrugged, "Lots of different things. There were some clothes, some letters, a couple pictures, your old schoolwork, all of the personal things that you can't throw away," she said.

Will thought over this last piece of information. When was the last time he had been up in that attic? He couldn't remember ever seeing any of his schoolwork up there. Had Amy found a whole box of things that he hadn't seen since his parents were alive? What else was tucked away up there?

As the silence stretched, Amy looked up from her plate to see Will not eating, just moving his food around. His brow was furrowed, his mouth was puckered and his chest was heaving. She knew the signs.

"What is it, Will?"

"Seeing as it's the weekend, and we don't have anything planned... would you mind if I went to Littleton tomorrow?" Will asked with hesitation. He knew that Amy most likely wouldn't mind, but he still wanted her approval. Especially seeing as he had run out on her last night. "It was just seeing my mom's cookbook like that, you know? I haven't been down to see my aunt and uncle in so long, and I really want to just look at some of their things in the attic," Will said in a rush, justifying himself -- quite unnecessarily judging by Amy's understanding smile.

"I don't mind, Will."

Will grinned appreciatively, and he felt the pressure on his chest ease a bit. That alone should have told him that he was going down there for reasons other than to see his parents old things.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N- I'm sorry this update has taken so long. Between school starting, getting in bike accidents, working extra hours, and having homework piled the first couple weeks, I didn't have much time for writing too. The next chapter should be more prompt, as everything is starting to even out now. (Thank God). I hope you understand. And thanks to anyone who is still sticking with me after this hiatus!

Anyway, let me know what you think, if there is anything you want me to incorporate, where you think Will should go from here... I have the outline of the story done, but I'm interested to see what you all think!

* * *

_Thump.Thump.Thump._

"Will, quit moping."

Will scowled at his mother, her familar warm curvy body, that to him just represented comfort and home, facing him, arms akimbo. Her presence filled up the whole room, softening the sharp edges of the room and brightening the dreariness that permeated it, spread even to the corners. She sounded angry, but as he looked at her face he couldn't quite make out the features, the nose that he knew was long like his own, the green eyes like splintered glass that he used to love looking at as he curled up in her lap. Her face was a blur, a pale blob framed by her long brown wavy hair, distorted as if he were looking at it through a thick sheet of ice.

He turned back to the picture window facing the main street of Littleton. Rain was pounding down in the street. A river was rushing in the gutters, sweeping leaves, dirt from the road, candy wrappers, and Will's plans of an afternoon playing outdoors with his friends into the sewer. He returned to hitting his forehead against the cool glass window.

"Will, come on now. Surely you can think of something to do indoors? Something more productive than giving both you and me a headache?" She came and sat next to him on the warm radiator, rumbling and whirring beneath his small body.

He shook his head. "There's nothing to do here. Papi is at work, and you are too busy to play with me," he said with a pout, his nine-year-old self angry with his mother for preferring to spend her afternoon with a vacuum cleaner than with him.

"You really know how to wallow, Willie," she said with a smile. "Just like your father. I don't know anyone who can sit in the sullens longer than your father." Will wasn't quite sure what _wallow_ and _the sullens_ were, but judging by the chagrined voice his mother was using, it wasn't something that was good, but she loved about both himself and his father for it nonetheless.

"It's just so _boring_," he whined, spreading his arms out wide in exasperation. "Lizzy and I were going to bike down to the river," Will said, his lower lip jutting out.

"Well, maybe when the rain dies down a bit, you can run over to Liz's and play with her," his mother suggested with a hopeful smile, rubbing his back in comforting circles, which did more to warm him than the clunking radiator.

"Can we play here?" he asked, his nose wrinkling at the thought of going to Elizabeth's house. Her house was big and had a lot of good hiding spots when they were playing hide and seek, but Will sometimes found them more useful for hiding from Elizabeth's father.

"Sure," his mother said, the pinkness of her lips stretching into a smile, descernible only because of their darker color against her pale distorted face. She kissed his forehead, and he wiped it off, in the disobedience of his age and gender. She left the room, the brightness she had brought to it following her.

Forgetting how he had been momentarily comforted, between his mother's warm caresses and her promises, he frowned up at the mutinous clouds. He looked back out to the street, thunder clapping at the rain's frantic dance on the pavement. The street was empty, and the sky was a bowl of filmy grey clouds that covered the entire town. Suddenly, he saw a defiant splash of color against the gloominess. A bright yellow pair of Wellington boots splashing in the deluge that was nearly flooding the street and a dark mane of brown hair, frizzy from the rain, were so bright that they looked obscene.

He knew immediately who it was, and where she was running to. He didn't even have to watch her coming to know to expect the slap on his front door.

He pulled it opened and saw her flushed cheeks and the familiar excited and naughty smile. He knew that her father had no idea where she was and was under the illusion that she was safe in her warm house.

"C'mon, Will!" she said as soon as she saw him, grabbing at his resistant hand and trying to pull him outside.

"Will..." she said uncomprehendingly when he didn't follow her. The brightness in her eyes faded a bit and looked a bit more appropriate now that they were as dull as the atmosphere surrounding them.

"We'll get sick, Lizzy," Will explained. "Come inside and we can play," he offered instead.

Always the spitfire, Elizabeth shook her head, "It's no fun inside. And it's not like we are going to stay in our wet clothes when we come back in," she said, rolling her eyes at her sometimes too serious best friend.

Will hesitated. Elizabeth, knowing his every change in mood since they were three, sensed her advantage and grabbed his hand again. This time he yielded, ran even, and they spent the afternoon dancing with the rain.

* * *

Will left early the next morning, and arrived at his hometown within an hour and a half. The fertile land of the town unfolded in front of him as he crested the hill that led into his small home. Familiar sights surrounded him as he drove along the main road. There was the court house where Elizabeth's father had worked, the drugstore where he had gone after school to make money, the library where he had spent countless hours reading, the road up to the school, his old neighborhood -- Elizabeth's house next to Jenny Hodgett's next to Becky Miles' next to Matthew Westman's next to his. 

The five little ruffians who had spent hours terrorizing the main street of Littleton, fighting with each other, playing with each other, getting in trouble with each other. They were close in age, Elizabeth the oldest, a couple months older than Will, and the youngest being Becky, only about a year and a half younger than Elizabeth. They each had their own little roles to play. Elizabeth was their ringleader, their planner, their protector. Will was the mediator, the problem solver and the thinker. Matt was the deceiver, the decoy and the manipulator. Jenny was the crafter, the action taker and the scapegoat. Becky was the accessory and the one who smiled innocently if they got caught red-handed doing something naughty. They were a team, and Will's best friends one day and worst enemies the next. He spent almost all of his summer days with those five children.

However, as the oldest, Will and Elizabeth were much closer to each other than they were to the rest of the group. Maybe this is why, when they all reached high school the five of them grew apart, their neighborhood the only thing they had in common anymore. Becky became a somewhat vain girl choosing her appearance over her education. Matt became one of those boys who aren't really the most intelligent, but not yet one of the kids who were so slow that they were going backwards. The girls loved him, and all it took was one of those slow deceptive smiles that had worked so well in beguiling their neighbors to make them fall all over him. Jenny was the athlete of the school, as she had been of their little band of miscrients. Will supposed that to Jenny, Matt and Becky, Elizabeth had becoming one of those girls that shun the popular choosing instead to follow her own innate set of morals and beliefs, however offbeat and unclear they were. And as far as he went, they would have called him the bookish one, the top of the class, the valedictorian. As brash as the labels were, they were awfully close to the truth.

However, one thing was always a constant. Will and Elizabeth.

As Will drove past the five houses, changed very little since he was a boy, he felt the years peel back. Slowing a bit as he passed the five houses, he could almost see them all in his yard, playing at being pirates while his mother shouted out the door that she had made them cookies. He had had an iconic childhood, one to be jealous of, one more blessed than he ever knew while he was living it, but at the thought of his parents' accident, the picture in his head yellowed, the houses around him sagged with the years they now wore, paint chipped off of them just as Will's childhood was stripped away from him.

As his home became smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror, his cell phone began to ring. Leaning down, he grabbed the small phone and flipped it open.

"Where you at?" Elizabeth asked without waiting for his greeting. How could she know him so well as to know even when he was on the other end? Sometimes their inexplicable connection gave him shivers.

"Never end a sentence with a preposition," Will said, before he could think better. Dramatically thumping his head against his seat, he waited for Elizabeth's reply. His job as an editor made it second nature to correct people's grammar. It annoyed him, because he knew it made him sound like he thought he was superior, but it annoyed Elizabeth, who had been subjected to it the most, even more.

"Where you at, bitch?" Elizabeth replied, with good natured venom seeped into her voice. Will couldn't help but laugh along with Elizabeth at himself.

"I'm in Littleton, actually," Will said, as their laughter subsided and he remembered her question.

"Oh, really?" Elizabeth said, sounding disappointed.

"No, I lied. I thought it would be funny," Will said sarcastically. This time it was Elizabeth's turn to laugh at herself.

"Why did you have to go today? Did you not realize that today would be the _perfect_ day for a bike ride up to the lake? This kind of behavior is unacceptable."

Will laughed at her familiar teasing, which he had missed the other night. "I actually _did_ notice it, Liz. But I also noticed that tomorrow it's going to be even better, seeing as it won't be as windy," Will lied.

"Fine. You better not have anything planned for you and Amy tomorrow then. Do you know that it's been months since we went on one of our rides? Also unacceptable."

"Don't worry. Tomorrow it will be all about you and me," Will assured, loving the sound of that in his mouth.

"As it should be," Elizabeth said, with a smile. Will loved the sound of that even more. "Hey! Since you're in Littleton, would you mind stopping by my house to pick up my old sketchbooks?"

"Sure. Look, I gotta go, I'm at my aunt and uncle's house. I'll get them to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Kay. Tell them 'Hi' from me!"

"Will do." He hung up the phone, and parked his car in the driveway. As the car popped and clinked and settled itself after its journey, Will took a minute to gather himself.

Elizabeth's words echoed in his mind. _As it should be._ A smile crept across his lips, which turned into a full grin until a laugh finally ripped from that part of a body that doesn't really exist, but burns just beneath the pit of his stomach. His whole body was elated at the words, his hands were cold and shaking, his heart vibrating in his chest, every part of him seemed to be laughing. Maybe it was being so close to his childhood that caused such an extreme reaction from such simple words? It had been a long time since he had felt this jubilation at what seemed like an acknowledgment and -- dare he think it? -- a reciprocation of his own love for Elizabeth. His childhood had been spent dissecting every conversation they had shared for those potent words, any veiled hint that it was more than just teasing.

But this! It didn't exactly leave much for the imagination. Elizabeth had said that it was supposed to be her and him together. How long had he waited for these words to spill out of her lips?

As Will's laughter died away, and his body was restored to its natural state, logic pervaded his clouded mind. Elizabeth had just been teasing, as always. It was how they communicated. Had he actually thought -- even for just a moment -- that those four simple words, that in no way expressed love, had been as good as an admission that Elizabeth loved him? The only way that Elizabeth could effectively tell him that would be if she said it to him in complete seriousness.

And if it were in another lifetime, Will couldn't help but think cynically.

And in the familiar routine of his childhood, Will's excitement was deflated from his body as his logic took over his senses again.

_Just because you are back home doesn't mean that you have to act like a child, Will,_ Will admonished himself with an accompanying eye-roll.

_And besides, you love Amy. You love Amy._

That kept getting harder to remember.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N- There is a flashback in this chapter. It is set off by ellipses. Just letting you know to prevent any confusion.

:D

* * *

Will pulled another cardboard box toward himself. The word _Pictures_ was scrawled on the side of it. He wondered idly who had written it -- his mother, his father, or his aunt?

His aunt and uncle had been surprised but happy to see him pull up to their house that morning. He had been relieved that they had been home because when he got out of the car, he realized how illogical it was to drive three hours to see them without even calling. His uncle had raised a suspicious eyebrow when Will explained why he was there, but after some hugging and small talk, his aunt had ushered him up to the attic to rifle through these boxes.

He had been up here for at least two hours now, he figured. So far he had found some of his old schoolwork -- a chain of little people that looked like the were holding hands, a turkey that had been made from his tiny hand print, and a Valentine with terrible grammar for his parents; he found the tattered remains of his baby blanket that he had secretly slept with until he was twelve; he found a photo album of his parents holding him in the hospital after he had been born, his father's eyes brimming with unshed tears to see his firstborn son, his mother's grin all the brighter for the pain she had borne that had brought her perfect baby into this world; he found a box full of his baby clothes -- tiny shoes, shirts, jeans, even a pirate outfit that he supposed had been what he had worn for a costume one Halloween.

So far everything he had found had been related to him. He wasn't sure why that unsettled him, or what he had been expecting. But as he started digging through his life, one he could hardly remember anymore, he realized that he had been subconsciously searching for something. But what was he looking for? Answers to a problem that had nothing to do with his parents and his childhood? Some passionate letter that revealed his father had gone through an ordeal similar to Will's? But that couldn't be it. The last thing he would want to find was something that would change his perception of his parents' marriage. So what was he looking for? And why did he think it was in this attic?

Groaning a bit to himself, Will opened up the box that was apparently filled with pictures. Sometimes he wished he could just detach his brain from the rest of his body. Even if it was one of his vital organs, it was still the only one that could kill him while it was keeping him alive.

Looking down into the box, Will saw that the photos had been thrown at random into the box. There was no order to it, a picture of Will on his eighth birthday was next to one of him getting a bath in the sink. It was very reminiscent of his mother, spontaneous and exciting, even though the part of him that loved order was cringing inside somewhere.

He pulled out a picture. It was a photo of him and Elizabeth holding hands when they were about six. He remembered that day clearly, and even though the picture was black and white, he could still see the rosy flush in his cheeks and the excitement in Liz's eyes that made them a bright, clear green...

"Lizzy, what's wrong?" Will asked and allowed the swing he was on to slow down. Lizzy sat pouting on a stationary one beside him. He dug his heels into the dirt so he sat beside her, waiting for a reply. The autumn wind whipped around the two of them, stinging their cheeks and teasing their hair.

Elizabeth sighed dramatically. Even at six, the girl knew how to throw the most petulant of tantrums. They made her seem both precocious and immature. To Will, they just made her Elizabeth. "Will, do you promise to be my best friend even when we are fifty and old?" she asked, staring wide eyed at her steady best friend.

"Of course, Lizzy," Will assured her, not understanding this sombre side to his usually vibrant and laughing friend. And besides, they WOULD still be best friends when they were fifty. There could simply be no world for him without Elizabeth in it.

"Promise me you'll be my best friend when we are fifty, Will," Elizabeth said, needing his reassurance, for some reason that Will couldn't figure out.

"Of course, Lizzy," Will said, giving her a sweet smile.

"Will, will you marry me?" Elizabeth asked him.

Will's face lost its smile and he was immediately sobered. For a six year old, marriage was something extremely foreign and adult. But they weren't just any pair of six year olds. They were Elizabeth and Will, best friends and rulers of this part of the town. It was natural that they should get married. After all, wasn't that what adults did? They all married their best friends so that they could be together forever. Will was actually surprised that he hadn't thought of it before. After all, wasn't he supposed to be the one who thought of these practical things?

He looked at Elizabeth and swallowed hard. "Of course, Lizzy," he vowed seriously. She smiled brightly at her best friend, now fiance, and grabbed his hand in excitement.

"So what do we do now?" Will asked, knowing his Elizabeth would have the answer, like she always did.

"We kiss of course, silly. That's how you make it official," Elizabeth explained.

Wide-eyed and solemn, Will leaned towards her upturned face. Their lips touched for the briefest of moments and then they both pulled away and smiled at each other, first nervous and unsure, but then giggling at their shared secret.

"Now it's official. We are going to get married," Elizabeth said with finality in her voice. Will smiled at his best friend, happier than even now that he knew they would be together forever...

They had told Will's mother about their engagement, the only adult they could felt they could whisper the secret to, and she had giggled with them and then insisted that she needed to take a picture of them because she wanted to say she was the first to get a picture of them as a couple.

This was that picture. Will smiled and sat it in the growing pile of mementos he wanted to keep.

Will looked inside the box again. He saw a picture in a gold frame along the left side of it. He pulled it out to see what it was.

It was a picture of his parents at their wedding. They were sitting in the limo, his mother in her immaculately white wedding dress, his father holding her hand in his own large one. They weren't looking at the camera, but instead at one another, smiling broadly. It was the same smile that he and Elizabeth had shared in his backyard so many years ago after their engagement. The skin around his eyes was starting to get a little tight. He had never seen any pictures of his parents' wedding before this one. All of the wall space had been dedicated to Will.

Suddenly he heard the squeak of a step. He leaned over to look through the banister and saw his uncle Ben coming up to the attic.

He smiled at as he sat down beside Will. Will returned a shy, somewhat embarrassed smile. Why had he come here again?

"I took that picture," Ben said, gesturing to the picture of Will's parents on their wedding day that he was still holding.

"I'd never seen it before. Or if I had, I had forgotten about it," Will said, choosing to look at the picture instead of his uncle's too understanding eyes.

"I was so proud of my little brother that day," Ben said, choosing the polite formality that he had used almost the whole time Will had lived with him. For once, Will was glad for it. He didn't need his uncle to pry into what even he couldn't completely understand.

"They look so happy," Will said softly, looking into his parents' two dimensional faces. Their obviously mutual love was upsetting him for some reason. Why did he want to see a shadow in his father's eyes? Why was he being so selfish to actually WANT to tarnish the perfect ideal he had held of his parents' marriage just to justify his own confused feelings? "I can hardly remember them anymore. They died when I was fourteen. Next year I will have lived without them for longer than I lived with them." His voice was a whisper, and he spoke to the picture, but he knew his uncle heard everything he said. The silence settled around them like the dust that was covering everything in the attic.

"Why are you here, Will?"

There. He had said it. The question, the unanswerable question was hovering between the two of them, as tangible as the man who asked it and the man who was searching for the answer to it.

"It's been so long..." Will said feebly. He knew he would never buy it. His uncle was far too smart of a man to believe that his nephew had come unexpectedly just because it had been an inexcusably long time since his last visit.

Ben gave him an understanding smile that might have seemed to be condescending to anyone else, but Will knew the intentions behind it were pure. After all, this was the man that had been unnecessarily respectful and polite to Will when he had lived with him.

"Will, you are a good boy, but do you honestly think that I'm going to believe that you drove three hours just to say hi?"

Will gave a small laugh, at himself for actually thinking that that excuse would work on his uncle, for thinking that he could come here unannounced and his aunt and uncle wouldn't find it strange, for thinking this attic actually had the answers he was searching for, for not knowing the answer to the question himself, but still knowing how ridiculous he was being.

"Why are you really here, Will?"

It hung between them again, this time twice as heavy with meaning. Will sat trying to find the words to explain what he was feeling. He wanted to say that he wanted some sort of reassurance of his own -- that he needed some guidance, but he was looking for a guide just as much as he was the advice. His mouth was trying to form the words to tell Ben that he was lost in an ocean of doubt while a storm of confusion raged overhead and that he had absolutely nothing to save himself with. But he had forgotten how to speak, his body wouldn't unlock the words to confide what he kept hidden from everyone, even himself.

Will sat spluttering, trying to make his voice say what his brain was constantly screaming at him. Ben watched as he struggled with himself and saw, even if he couldn't hear, that Will was struggling with something.

"You know, he came to me when he thought about asking Anna to marry him," Ben said, pointing to the picture in Will's hand again. Will's body quieted when he heard his uncle talk, but what he was saying was just confusing him even more. "He was so unsure of himself. I had been married to your aunt for a year then, so I guess that made me an expert to him. He told me that he thought that maybe Anna was the one who he wanted to marry. 'Maybe?' I asked him--"

Suddenly Will saw where his uncle was going, what he thought was bothering Will so much.

"--Your father looked at me and said 'Ben, the only thing I know for sure is that I'm never sure about anything.' Your father never realized that he was always much smarter than I could ever be, despite the fact that I was two years older. But I was too young then to realize that, and so was he, so I said 'Then how do you know that Anna is the one you want to marry?' and he said to me, 'I've never been so unsure about anything in my life. That's how I know. If the only thing I'm sure about is that I'm unsure, then the thing that I'm most unsure about has to be the most certain.' And he was right, Will."

Will watched his uncle as he recounted the story. He was looking at the picture in Will's hand, a contentedly sad smile on his face and in his story.

"You are so much like your father, Will. You share much more than a name. Did you know that they decided to name you Will when you were born, because you already had curly black hair that was identical to your father's? They were planning on calling you Charles. But then they saw your hair. And it's more than the hair too. I could always see it when you were growing up. Let me tell you, Will, all of us loved watching you grow up. You were the first of the second generation of Turners, and I knew that I wouldn't be having my own children because of Alice's sterility. And you were your father's child through and through. You used to like to sit in your crib with the most concentrated look on your face, like you were already trying to solve the most difficult problems. Just like your father. You were a thinker from day one. You were an over-thinker. You still are."

Will's throat was starting to close up as his uncle's words started to sink in. His overtaxed and overemotional brain felt both eased and more burdened. And his uncle was right.

"I understand that getting married is a big step, Will. But no one can be one hundred percent certain about it. Your father said it was what he was most uncertain about and look how great his marriage was. There is absolutely nothing guaranteed when it comes to marriage, but with Amy you can at least be pretty sure that you will be happy and loved and secure. What more could you possibly ask for?" Ben gave Will a warm smile and an affectionate rub on the shoulder before standing up and going back downstairs.

Will looked down at the picture again. His father didn't look uncertain in this picture, which had most likely been taken shortly after they had left the church.

'If it's a sure thing, then there is no risk, and if there is no risk, then where is the fun?'

Another bit of his father's wisdom had floated back to him from his childhood, probably inspired by his uncle's story.

Now another question presented itself. Was he more unsure of his love for Amy or for Elizabeth?


End file.
